


An involuntary guest

by Knit1298



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Gen, Mind Games, Psychological Torture, Sith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 11:08:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16345562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knit1298/pseuds/Knit1298
Summary: There was no opener this side of the door. Though remaining invisible to the man, he knew there were cameras watching his every move somewhere. Heating and lights were controlled from the outside. He knew from experience that gas could be induced into the room.He was a prisoner, a prisoner within a luxurious cell, waiting for his captor.





	An involuntary guest

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there.  
> I'm new to Ao3, so not quite sure about the tagging.  
> Wrote this quite a while ago as part of my headcanon of one of my legacy's characters. Unfortunately got stuck with the story continuation at some point due to time and reasons.  
> Since this works as a stand alone, in fact was written as such before the rest of my ideas started to take shape, I thought it a good start to get back into writing and into posting here.  
> Fair warning, I'm not a native English speaker, hopefully there aren't too many errors making people cringe. Feel free to point them out to me, I'll try to correct them.

 

Lights switched on. The old balding man could feel it deep within his guts, his _host_ was back. He shivered a little, dreading what he would have to endure again soon.

He sat up and looked around. The small room didn't look like a cell, it was furnished with the surprisingly comfortable bed he was currently sitting on, a chair next to a table, a closet built into the wall, a door to a small bathroom, fitted with everything necessary.A standard room one would find in any Imperial outpost, home to thousands of officers throughout the Empire. A room like he had inhabited it himself on several occasions in the past.

 

Here and now, it was a cell.

 

There was no opener this side of the door. Though remaining invisible to the man, he knew there were cameras watching his every move somewhere. Heating and lights were controlled from the outside. He knew from experience that gas could be induced into the room.

He was a prisoner, a prisoner within a luxurious cell, waiting for his captor.

 

The man suppressed another shiver, thinking about the one who would fetch him soon.

Without any doubt it was a Sith, male for what he was able to tell. The aura his captor wore was unmistakable, as were the traditional robes. But he had no clue or any idea of the identity, of which master stood behind him and even worse, what he really wanted from him. This Sith was thin and not very tall, compared to others the prisoner had met in the past. Although appearances were never a good indicator to measure a force user. The attire was similar to what Inquisitors used to wear. That was about everything he could tell about the man holding him captive.

The face always was hidden behind a full head mask out of some sort of silver and black metal. He couldn't even tell if it was a human or Pureblood Sith, someone young or old. The voice, most time being neutral or slightly amused, always was a bit distorted by the breather of the mask, there was no accent to make out. He acted like most Sith, expecting the natural obedience non Sith in the Empire were taught since childhood. But on the other hand he just ignored any sign of resistance against his orders. There was no punishment, he simply used the force to override any behaviour he didn't want.

 

The prisoner sighed, he didn't even know how long he was here by now.

 

He remembered how the two supposedly Mandalorian mercenaries had abducted him. With great precision, they breached the house, where he had been under arrest since the end of Imperial Intelligence during the night. Knocked him out, just hard enough to make it impossible to escape. No unnecessary pain or lasting damage inflicted, no deaths, no witnesses.

A spotless extraction by true professionals.

Not that there had been a chance to flee to begin with. He had become an old man, not only by his greyed and balded appearance, but by his physical abilities. When walking, he was able to hide the limp, a remaining _gift_ Darth Ravage had added to his forced retirement, but running wasn't something he could manage any longer. He still was a good shot, but these two had disarmed him before he even recognised them as a threat. They had kidnapped him out of the house arrest into this imprisonment, where ever it was.

That had happened some weeks ago, or months? He couldn't say. Having lost any sense of time.

 

In a way it was ironic that he, who used the very same methods to unsettle suspects and prisoners, wasn't able to resist their effects either. He knew very well how to weaken minds by changing the night and day cycles, eating patterns, sleep deprivation, how to muddle up anything a captive could cling on, like counting the days or hours. To make them torture themselves with their own mind.

And here he was, alone with his more and more unpleasant thoughts, not remembering the time of the day, or how long it was since he had eaten or since the Sith had visited him last time. His captor always acted as if it was evening, but he could not be sure, there was no clock, no window, nothing that would have allowed him a glimpse about what time it was outside.

If he hadn't been the subject of this himself, he would have applauded the Sith for his perfect execution of this whole operation. Being on the receiving end, it was getting to him, he felt himself slowly cracking, nearing the edge more and more. Sensing the void he would fall into, as soon as his mind shattered.

He had witnessed this process often enough. Knowing it wouldn't take much longer for him to become one of those empty and broken shells, he had seen in the cells so many times; he had helped to produce on countless occasions.

Was it irony or fate, some sort of cruel kismet, vengeance of what ever entity there might be overseeing life? He never had been a believing man, but here and now, he wondered, if there was something that kept the balance, if what he faced, was some sort of poetic justice.

 

Waiting for the door to open, without anything else as company than his own thoughts, was the worst of it. The man looked at his hands, he saw all the men and women he had failed in front of him. The secrets he had spilled, the trust he had betrayed. He dreaded the hiss of the door, opening the way to the corridor. The masked Sith would greet him politely, order him to follow. And he would just obey, as there was nothing else he could do.

He had tried to resist, but the Sith simply had made him follow into the other room, no matter how much the prisoner had screamed at himself in his mind, not to make another step, to rather die to the Sith's anger, than to endure this any longer.

His body had just moved on, against his will, steered by the force.

Down the hall, where torture awaited him.

Psychical torture.

At this point physical pain would have been a great relief.

 

But the Sith didn't shock him, didn't choke him or used any tool of torture or inflicting pain.

He just asked questions. Even asked them in a polite and quiet manner, without threatening his prisoner or instil horror or fear on purpose.

If he had acted like the gruesome torturers among the Sith, the old man had witnessed himself during his active time, maybe it would have been something he better could have coped with.

His captor was always polite, always relaxed, acting as if he had invited his prisoner around for a cup of tea and some small talk.

There always _was_ tea there and they never were in a dark torture chamber. In fact, the hall led to a friendly living room, with a comfortable couch the Sith usually motioned him to sit on.

But there never really had been small talk.

There had been interrogation, questions, again and again. In the end it was worse than torture. Worse than anything he ever had to deal with before.

 

The Sith always asked questions, about his work, about the secrets he kept, about the people he desperately tried to protect; and he had to answer. The robed man usually took the answers without any visible reactions, but somehow he always knew, when the old man was lying or trying to deflect an answer too much. Then this overwhelming presence would fill the old man's mind and against his will, his mouth would speak out loud the information wanted. He couldn't hide anything, one way or the other, he eventually answered truthfully to what ever question the Sith asked.

With all his experience and training about torture, interrogation and ways to resist them, to resist Sith or Jedi mind tricks..., there was nothing he could do to stop himself from speaking.

 _Nothing_ of his extensive training helped against this particular Sith.

He was helpless and it was eating him from within, breaking him, every time he revealed another secret, the cracks in his mind opened a bit further.

 

He had tried to end his life, when being left alone in his cell. But the only thing that had happened, had been a fast working sleeping gas filling the room and stopping his attempts every time, until he ceased trying.

He had tried to attack the Sith, for the sole reason to end all this by being killed. But the thin man just stopped him in his tracks with the force, without rising as much as a finger. The Sith didn't even bother to lose one word about his attempts. Until the old man just had given up physical resistance, from then on obeying to what ever the Sith had told him to do.

 

The little strength he had left, was needed to keep his remaining secrets safe. Especially one.

He had failed this man once before, but not again! Never! This time he would protect him.

Although a faint and small voice in his head reminded him, if the Sith would start asking about this particular man, there was nothing he could do. His only hope was, that his captor would never touch this subject.

 

The door opened with a low hiss, waking the old man out of his dark train of thoughts.

“Good evening _Keeper_ ”, the Sith greeted with a hint of amusement in his voice, using the old designation of his prisoner. “Follow me, please!”

 


End file.
